


rivers beneath my skin

by feyluke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyluke/pseuds/feyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>loras watches the steam curl up from renly’s skin in small, twisting tendrils. he is intoxicated, overwhelmed, his senses swimming with renly, renly, renly.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	rivers beneath my skin

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on lj, july 7, 2012

Loras lowers his aching body into the scalding water and lifts up slightly, admires the way his skin has instantly turned red from the heat. Renly would scold him for such folly; bathing is a luxury to be enjoyed, not endured.

Loras’ lips turn upward at one corner. He thinks of the frown that would appear on Renly’s face and the way his eyebrows would furrow for a moment of feigned seriousness before the laughter would slowly release from his chest. Renly could not remain stern with Loras for long, never could. It’s a skill, like jousting, that he has left himself half-trained in—just enough to keep up the pretense.

He settles into the bathwater, slides down even further to submerge his shoulders. The water tickles his neck, briefly meets his jaw, heat so heavy it nearly suffocates, and he almost lets the water blanket over his face, too, when there is a loud knock on the side of the bathtub. Loras starts, inhales sharply, but does not open his eyes. He murmurs a curse and receives a low chuckle.

A hand pulls the sweaty curls from his forehead, tugs on the strands just enough to hurt, and Loras smiles.

“Join me,” he says. He expects a refusal but is answered by the rustling of clothes. He recognizes the sound of Renly’s shirt being opened, knows it like a septon knows the preparation of his altar.

“You did well today.” Renly’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. He has leaned in closer, his mouth by Loras’ ear, the stubble of his beard just scraping Loras’ skin. “You unhorsed the Kingslayer. Cersei was so shocked she forgot to hide it.”

Loras hums happily. Normally he would return the banter, something about the bets that Renly had undoubtedly won, but he is too overheated. He contents himself with soaking up the praise, lets it spread through his body. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Renly confirms. “You unhorsed the Commander of the Kingsguard. I was nearly as hot as this bath water, watching you.” More rustling, the sound of Renly’s laced-up breeches being pushed down and stepped out of. “Soon, you might even unhorse him from that title.”

“You flatter me. I’d be more flattered if you did not take so long.”

A chuckle, the folding of clothes (just to agitate Loras, most surely), and then the water level rising as Renly slowly steps into the tub. His intake of breath at the temperature of the water is a long hiss. This, Loras opens his eyes for; for the newly flushed skin and the furrow in his lord’s brow. Renly finally sits facing Loras, his back against the other side of the tub; another insufferable action. He flicks some water at Loras (more insufferable).

“Well, come over here.”

Loras frowns. Renly would call it a pout, but thankfully does not. Loras lifts his arms out of the water and sits up to drape them alongside the edges of the tub. He lifts an eyebrow and Renly sighs. Renly likes to hold, not be held. Or at least pretend to.

“You, come here.” Loras presses the heel of his foot to his lord’s inner thigh.

“Well, you did work so hard today.”

He kisses Loras, slow and lazy, before he makes a show of waving his rear in Loras’ face as he turns around, dramatic and exaggerated movements. Loras has to turn away, the grin eating his face, because _Renly_. And then Renly is finally where Loras wants him, back to chest, sitting between Loras’ legs. Loras wraps an arm down around Renly’s waist, holds him there, and rests his chin on Renly’s shoulder.

Loras watches the steam curl up from Renly’s skin in small, twisting tendrils. He inhales the rich scent of jasmine like oxygen. Drags his fingers up Renly’s ribcage, counts each bone like a prayer. When Renly leans back even more, pressing Loras into the steel of the tub, and hums in contentment, Loras can feel it reverberate deep in his chest. He is intoxicated, overwhelmed, his sense swimming with _Renly, Renly, Renly._

He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses on the area where Renly’s neck meets his jaw and Renly finds his hand, squeezes it, another silent prayer. Later, Renly will switch their positions and guide Loras onto his lap. They will kiss, more slow and lazy ones like the one before. And then Renly will pull Loras closer into a slow grind while the perfumed water sloshes around them. But for now they simply melt into each other, mold their bodies to fit, breathe each other.

They have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://feyluke.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
